


Help Me Out

by nellipot



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, that’s all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellipot/pseuds/nellipot
Summary: someone asked for Timmy surprising Armie at his first straight white men show, so i did that





	Help Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends I’m at my fifth campsite in my fourth week of camping :-) I wrote this in the two hours i had phone service :-) sorry I’m the worst :-) but you knew that :-)))))

_Break a leg man_

_Break both legs_

_Snap your neck_

_You’re gonna do AMAZING_

_I wish i could give you more than just a thousand of these kisses the brits seem to be so fond of xxxxxxxxXxxxxxxx_

_Seriously though_

_Just breathe_

_You know your lines, you’re fucking ARMIE HAMMER_

_Everything you do is the bestttttttttt!!!_

Armie thumbed up and down the string of text messages over and over, smiling, shaking his head, but still going up to read them again. He could hear Timmy’s voice in them, had seen him punch out overly excited texts all too many times, his curls falling over his face as he focused on his phone’s screen. Armie imagined him in his apartment (“flat, Armie! They call it flat here!”) his lip between his teeth, because he’d been apologizing for _days_ already, about how he couldn’t be here. 

Of course it would have been great for him to come, but it wasn’t something Armie even allowed himself to think about. It wasn’t possible, and they accepted it. It was busy for them right now, they knew this is how this summer would go. They called each other almost daily when they could, or texted, or sent dumb pictures back and forth when they had nothing to update each other on - today he’d gotten the corner of Timmy’s eye with a whole lot of sky behind it, had sent one back of his legs hanging off the front of the stage - and now he had these, these haphazard blurtings that were sent hours too early because Timmy couldn’t ever get their time difference right. 

He’d just gotten back from the stage door, his heart beating into his throat because that had gone _really well_ , he hadn’t made any earth shattering mistakes (maybe a few contractions he shouldn’t have contracted) and the audience seemed to have really connected with the characters all of them have been carefully building up for what seemed like forever now. Finally, finally this day had arrived and it could be behind him - all the nerves and doubts of having the _first show_ \- and he was relieved, and he was still scrolling through these texts standing in the middle of his dressing room with one hand reaching for his jacket. 

“God, you Californians. Cold in the middle of a New York summer.” Armie looked up.

He knew about the haircut. God, he was probably the first one to know, the first one to receive that FaceTime call, with Timmy scrunching the front of it in his hand, looking worried, getting startled when he ran his hand over the back of his neck and felt only skin. 

(“You’re acting as if the hair is a deciding factor for me”

“Isn’t it?”

Armie had shrugged. 

“Still enough to hold on to.”)

He still had to stare for a second, when he saw that haircut leaning against his doorframe with Timmy’s face underneath it. When he found his voice he could barely recognize it. 

“You haven’t heard? Walked 50 something miles last week. Full fledged New Yorker now.”

Timmy bit back a smile. He was crossing his arms in a white hoodie, and god, it was from their _merch store_ , he had gotten it that _night_ -

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t wait for Timmy’s retort, they could banter about New York some other time, he didn’t even wait for Timmy’s response to this question, just took three steps forward and wrapped him up in a hug, his cheek smashing against the side of Timmy’s shaved head and okay, yeah, maybe just for two seconds he missed the curls, but he would never tell him that.

“What are you _doing_ here?” He repeated, softer, his hands across the small of Timmy’s back, and he felt Timmy’s hook up around his shoulders, he was on his tip toes to rest his chin there too.

“Couldn’t miss it.” Timmy whispered back.

“You saw?” Armie pulled away to look at him, hand going to the front of Timmy’s forehead to card his fingers in his fluffy short curls, still holding him close with the other. Timmy looked up at him and nodded.

“Had just about the shittiest seat in the house, but I didn’t want to throw you off.” He smiled.

“Good fucking call,” Armie said, tugging a little then pushing the hair back from Timmy’s face and thumbing at the new skin just above his ear. “I might have thrown _myself_. Off the stage. At you.”

Timmy placed a hand on his chest. “I’ve ran through those lines enough times to know that is not in the script.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly and got a grip on Armie’s shirt, tugging him in, down, anywhere he wanted really, because he was _here_ , here to pull their lips together, here under Armie’s hands, in this stupid fucking sweatshirt because he was a little shit, his little shit.

Armie held him closer by his hips, kissed him long and slow, showing a fuck ton of restraint if you asked him, nipping at his chin, and jaw, and the side of his neck, feeling like everything was happening in slow motion, and yet all at once. 

“Miss me?” Armie heard Tim ask, head tipped to one side as he sucked down to his collarbone and back up again. 

“No shit.” He mumbled, lifting him up quickly to set back down on his leather couch. Timmy hummed.

“God,” He breathed, when Armie pressed him into the cushions with his body, writhing over him and kissing every place he could reach. “You know this is a thing for me.” 

It made Armie laugh into his neck, hands bracing himself on either side of Timmy’s ribs.

“I might recall that conversation.”

Or, it’s been in his head since Timmy said it, shyly, taking the tension out of a quiet talk about how he was in London, and Armie was here, and how they were both feeling that ocean between them like a rocking in their stomachs by casually mentioning this fantasy he’s had since high school, of hooking up in the dressing room backstage of a broadway show.

“That is so nerdy.” Armie had smiled, knowing Timmy could see him through the phone, knowing Timmy could see he didn’t think that was nerdy at all.

“You should help me out with that, sometime.” Timmy had said casually, only stuttering once, always surprising Armie with how awkward he could be about this at times and then completely fucking filthy at others.

“Oh yeah? I should? What would you want me to do to assist that?”

And maybe it wasn’t - quite - playing out to the exact details Timmy had shared (or Armie had coaxed out of him, softly, patiently) but he was still breathing heavily, still arching up into Armie in little thrusts.

“You’re here.” Armie said, leaning his whole weight on one elbow to run his hand across Timmy’s cheek. Timmy wrapped his legs around him and held on tight. 

“You’re here.” He replied.


End file.
